


Volatile

by skyshores



Category: No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, Post-Series, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyshores/pseuds/skyshores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can that fool can touch him with that scar on his back, that rift in his flesh, that terrible, terrible nightmare of fire and ash and death hidden in the black of the skin over the flesh and the bones and the heart he makes beat and beat and beat—</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volatile

Nezumi never knows how that fool can touch him with that scar on his back, that rift in his flesh, that terrible, terrible nightmare of fire and ash and death hidden in the black of the skin over the flesh and the bones and the heart he makes beat and beat and beat—

His mouth's on his neck and Shion is not outside like Nezumi wants him to be, but in him, in him and so sublimely warm he can't remember, he can't remember why, why, why he let him in at all, why he let him touch him, why he let him sweep those virtuous hands across the filth of his back and his farce of a life never lived.

The tips of his fingers are wet and hot and touching the scar and his hair's a fluffy white mop of sweat and love pooled against his chest and he's holding the nape of an angel and breathing in his scent of bread and petals and Shion, Shion, Shion.

Nezumi, Nezumi, Nezumi, I love you, I love you, I love you—how the fuck does he say that with such babyish audacity when all it means is nothing at all and everything at once and oh, it is hell and it is bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss.

When Shion kisses him now, it is as much of a thrill as was the typhoon and the screaming—the most beautiful scream in the wide world—he's moving and moving and he can't stop him, and the water and the rain washes away the dirt on his back. His hands are clasped over it, tight and unmoving and heated.

And the light from his kiss and their limbs in a knot and the slow surges of his hips for a moment seem to close the rift in for one small flicker of eternity, so that the storm comes crashing in against their skin and their bodies break in tremors and breaths and when that wide gaping gap closes on his back Nezumi wonders about the many things eternity can make you forget.

Years and years and years of wandering or running away, and turning around and fumbling and missing and shitting and going home to an empty bed and an empty asshole and a lonely dick and eyes that always seem to have these little glass shards in them and a heart that never stops dreaming of that place in the clouds where that one red-eyed angel sleeps.

To hell with it—he balls a fist between Shion's hips and waist and twists it in so he can feel the brunt of his knuckles—when it is against your very being to love and be loved what is it you do when an idiot becomes the world to you?

Then he bites some random bit of skin and hopes it hurts and mutters into that thin band of pink against his warm cheek. It's all Nezumi can do to show him, it's all he can do to love him, because oh he knows now that he is stupidity and happiness itself.

I'll stay—Nezumi says, and the cheek is then moist and salty, and the hips jerk forward. Nezumi's head catches in a pillow and feathers cover his blackened back and it's like a fucking wedding, with trumpets in the ceiling and laughter and sex in the air and fingers interlocked and kisses over his throat.


End file.
